The Party That Thomas Held
by A Spoony Bard
Summary: ~*AU*~ When Thomas Songfield (Seguchi Tohma) took a holiday at his country estate, the worse that could have happened was the loss of luggage on the way there. Then his friends arrived...
1. Make Way For The Lord and His Lady

"The Party That Thomas Held."

By: A Spoony Bard. 

Rating: R. (eventually) 

Disclaimer: Think about it this way: There is no graphic sex in "Gravitation" (not even in the OAV). There would be if I owned it. You finish the connection.

Greetings, all. This is an AU work which was inspired by a Media Studies piece I had to write.  It's set in late-Victorian England; doesn't really need an exact date, but... I'd say around 1890-1900. Watch out for rampant out-of-character actions (i.e., Eiri not being as much of a bastard; Tohma being pretty mellow; Tatsuha trying to shag his brother… -_-;;), but hope you like! 

Characters: 

Seguchi Tohma: Mr. Thomas Songfield; 32; Manager of the Bank of England, London. 

Seguchi Mika: Mrs. Marie Songfield; 30; Wife of Mr. Thomas Songfield. 

Yuki Eiri: Mr. Edward York; 22; Famous newspaper columnist for "The Times". 

Uesugi Tatsuha: William Weir; 16; Public schoolboy at the "King's Public School for Boys". 

Sakuma Ryuichi: Mr. Robert Sanders; 32; Headmaster of the "King's Public School for Boys". 

K: Claude Winchester; 30; Ex-army corporal and Deputy Headmaster at the "King's Public School for Boys".

Fujisaki Suguru: Frederick Selsters; 16; Public schoolboy at the "King's Public School for Boys". 

Shindo Shuichi: Simon Shorte; 19; Domestic servant at "The Wind Archer". 

Nakano Hiroshi: Henry Narborough; 19; Stable-hand at "The Wind Archer". 

Sakano: (Mr.) Salisbury; 30; Butler at "The Wind Archer". 

Usami Ayaka: Anna Summers; 17; Domestic servant at "The Wind Archer".

Ukai Noriko: Ms. Noémie Uberwells; 28; Cook at "The Wind Archer". 

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Chapter One: Make Way For the Lord and His Lady. 

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Another bleak and dreary day in England. The cool, relentless winds busied the fresh leaves on the huge trees and the ever-present billows of thick clouds in shades of grey that matched the buildings of London, hung over the scenic landscape of the countryside. Despite the season, it was, indeed, a bleak and dreary day; one that certainly wasn't befitting of such a momentous occasion. Thomas Songfield, who had been working since he was eighteen years old, was finally taking a holiday. 

The youthful-looking man glanced from the small window of the carriage, to his wife sitting opposite him. After three hours of solid travelling, she was still working on her pretty piece of embroidery. 

"Aren't you bored of that yet, Marie?" He asked, as he watched the dull, silver needle move up and down; in and out of the fine, white cheesecloth; tiny lines of expensive silks the only proof it had ever been there.   

"No." Came the single word reply, and Thomas continued to watch the steady motions of his dearest. For a few minutes more, the only sound that could be heard in the carriage was the steady canter of the shire horses. 

"Gosh. It seems so trite. How do you women do it?" 

"We don't have much of a choice." Marie stated nonchalantly, as she continued to sew. Her husband sighed lightly and returned to gazing out of the window beside him. Conversations with Thomas alone were always difficult to maintain. After all, she hadn't had much practice since the poor woman hardly ever saw him. He worked all day and then was too tired to be bothered in the evening. All he wanted to do was sit down and read until he decided to go to bed. The same pattern, day-in, day-out, bored Marie and brought about deep concern for her husband's welfare. That was the main reason why she suggested that they take a holiday. Run away for awhile to the country manor left to Thomas in his father's will, so they could both relax and enjoy themselves in the beautiful surroundings with a few close friends. The sophisticated lady neatly and carefully folded her ornate needlework over its tambour and placed it in her jewelled handbag. 

"Is the luggage secure, Thomas?" She asked, attempting once more to strike up a little bit of chatter between them, if only to stave off the un-ladylike yawns or break the repetitive clip-clop of the hooves. 

"If it isn't, the driver will have to sell his family in order to pay for any lost contents. I shan't be leaving a token, either. We could have been there about an hour ago if we had taken the train… The quicker we start this, the quicker it ends." Marie couldn't help but smile. Her husband was always so businesslike. Time was money, and money was of the essence. Except it never was for her; her family was rich and she married rich and Thomas, like her father, always managed money so well. She supposed it came with being a bank manager, rather than being tight. 

'Now, if only he could manage his time better...' 

The pair jumped as an especially loud peal of summer-thunder rumbled through the dampened air. Feeling embarrassed about being taken by surprise, the bank manager rubbed his hands together in an attempt to warm them. It was cooler in the carriage and he was only wearing an ordinary jacket. His wife was dressed up in an elaborate fur coat, however and was looking fairly cosy. The temptation to snuggle under the sleek pelts with her was rising by the minute.

"It looks like it's going to rain again." Marie commented, as she peeked out through the square of glass. The old oaks stood out like ancient sore-thumbs; heads of cheery green against the disgruntled grey sky. The gentle, rolling landscape cruised by the society-lady's view and pleased her. Despite the weather, Somerset was even prettier than last time and she was definitely going enjoy herself out in the open air.

"I hope not. That'll r_eally_ spoil this bloody so-called 'holiday'..." 

"Language!" 

The rest of the journey to "The Wind-Archer" was spent in companionable silence. The brunette woman decided that more embroidery would be a sensible way to pass the time and therefore, Thomas thought that a nap was in order. Marie paused in her needlework to sit and gaze at her slumbering husband, a marital fondness present in her face. 

  'He's so sweet when he's sleeping. Poor Thomas… You've worked so hard for this break and really deserve to enjoy it. Why won't you let yourself go for once?' Marie questioned internally. She noticed how he was bunching his country tweed about him, struggling to retain warmth. Looking down at the luxuriously soft and snug coat about herself, she reckoned that she ought to share. 

  'Don't want to have to come through for the "In sickness and in health" part again… Thomas is the most _awful_ patient…' Marie shrugged off the mink-pelt and spread the expensive coat over the shivering man lying against the padded frame of the carriage door. She felt a warmth in her chest as the gift was gratefully accepted; Thomas snuggling down under the coat that smelt so heavily of his spouse. Talcum powder, scent and cigarette smoke was a very odd combination of aromas, but it was reassuring and sent the man into a slightly more pleasant sleep. Content with her good deed for the day-and resisting the urge to tuck him in, Marie returned to her needlework.

"Thomas! Thomas, darling, wake up! We've arrived!" A finely decorated hand prodded the soft skin of the dozing man's face; skin pallid from stress and overworking. 

"What?" Was the drowsy reply. He was warm and comfortable under the wonderfully soft and comfortingly scented makeshift quilt.  Thomas always had a rather peculiar, effeminate smell about him, but he wasn't bothered. He was used to going to work reeking of, what he had affectionately dubbed "Eau de Marie".  Dull aquamarine eyes cracked open as if they feared what they would see.  

"I said we're here! It's time to get up! I think the domestic team has come to meet us, as well!" The woman sounded excited. The hardworking male didn't see what was so great about this break. After all, it had torn him away from his job- his control on reality and what kept the meddlesome lady in her finery. He sighed as he rubbed the remnants of a warm, but fairly uncomfortable sleep from his eyes. 

'Blasted country roads...' 

"I'm tired. Tell the driver and footman to leave everything in the hallway, and let the domestics take care of it. I shall go straight to bed. I don't require anything to eat." Thomas muttered as the coach door was opened for him. He handed the covering back to his lady before opting to exit the coach. Highest-quality brown leather shoes met moss-covered gravel with a crunching sound. He stretched discretely and looked up at the majestic, rustic dwelling that towered imposingly above him; so old and yet it stood so proudly, drawing the eyes upwards in awe. 

'Rather like Father...' The thirty-two year old mused. Thomas turned to see his elegant wife climbing out of the stagecoach with all of the dignity of a royal. He regarded the expression on her face, as she took in the sight of her new, temporary home. 

'Like a small girl at Yuletide... It never fails to impress her. She's so much like Edward was in some ways…' At the thought of Marie's sibling, an unnoticeably small streak of pink graced his petite nose and he smiled at the warm and cosy feeling in his stomach. A nippy chill in the wind bit about his body, so Thomas decided that then was as good a time as any to move into the building. He brought his eyes back to the entrance of the impressive home and saw a small gathering of nervously-shuffling people. Squinting at them for a brief period of time, Thomas recalled something Marie had said about the servants coming to meet them. His sharp eyes surveyed each one of them. 

'Hmm... What a small group... Oh well, there won't be many of us.' 

"Well, don't just stand there, Thomas! Go inside before you catch your death of cold!" The bank manager looked up and saw Marie standing in front of him. 

'And since when was she in front of me?  She left the car after me...' Thomas turned again to see the driver and footman unloading the multitude of suitcases. Of course, most of them contained the lady's clothing, as she insisted upon bringing several trunks if they were entertaining, which they were. Thomas had sent letters to each of his friends, inviting them to make his 'break' a little more bearable. 

"Anna Summers... I see... You're new, aren't you? I thought so…" It seemed Marie was already getting re-acquainted with her servants. Thomas shrugged. After all, she was the _lady_ of the house... The urbane and kind master shivered again, as another nippy breeze trailed its chilly fingers down his back. 

"Thomas! Come over here!" Piecing a small smile to his thin, subtle lips, he strode through the huge, open doors, thinking:

'Never mind about the cold, I'd best go inside before I catch my death of wife...'

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And so be the cessation of the first chapter. Boring introduction, but it has to be done… Sorry. Next part might be more interesting and a little longer… 


	2. Kiss Me, Yorky

"The Party That Thomas Held."

By: A Spoony Bard. 

Rating: R.

Disclaimer: Blah.

Ooh! Looky! Le deuxieme! Sorry, it's just I've never written anything in chapters... Well, written it _and_ finished it.... Let's hope I can finish this one! To make up for lack of interesting things in the first chapter, this chapter... Well, read on…

…There be incest in this 'ere part, my lubbies…

Characters: 

Seguchi Tohma: Mr. Thomas Songfield; 32; Manager of the Bank of England, London. 

Seguchi Mika: Mrs. Marie Songfield; 30; Wife of Mr. Thomas Songfield. 

Yuki Eiri: Mr. Edward York; 22; Famous newspaper columnist for "The Times". 

Uesugi Tatsuha: William Weir; 16; Public schoolboy at the "King's Public School for Boys". 

Sakuma Ryuichi: Mr. Robert Sanders; 32; Headmaster of the "King's Public School for Boys". 

K: Claude Winchester; 30; Ex-army corporal and Deputy Headmaster at the "King's Public School for Boys".

Fujisaki Suguru: Frederick Selsters; 16; Public schoolboy at the "King's Public School for Boys". 

Shindo Shuichi: Simon Shorte; 19; Domestic servant at "The Wind Archer". 

Nakano Hiroshi: Henry Narborough; 19; Stable-hand at "The Wind Archer". 

Sakano: (Mr.) Salisbury; 30; Butler at "The Wind Archer". 

Usami Ayaka: Anna Summers; 17; Domestic servant at "The Wind Archer".

Ukai Noriko: Ms. Noémie Uberwells; 28; Cook at "The Wind Archer".

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter Two: Kiss me, Yorky... 

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"Darn, it's raining. Again. When will this blasted country have some sun in the summertime?!" 

"When you get your own house, perhaps? And leave me alone, perhaps? And start to act your age, perhaps?" A tall, handsome man crossed the room to reach a large, oaken bookcase. His slender hands reached to pick out one of the old-looking books, flipping through the pages nonchalantly before coming to the one he needed. Gracefully slowly, he shuffled back to his desk and sat down in the comfortably well-worn chair. A keen pair of jet-black eyes watched his every fluid move from the comfy, cushioned mahogany sofa. 

"Ouch! That really stung, dearest brother!" 

"Keep quiet, Boy. I'm working." Taking a pair of spectacles from his bureau and putting them on, the young adult scowled as he read over the words printed on the paper. 

"Oh, Edward! You're no fun! I come home for the holidays, to keep _you_ company, when I could just have easily have gone to Marie! Now, all we do is _sit_ in your drawing room, while I talk and you...well, I don't know what _you_ do..." The teenager sighed heavily as he heard the sound of a match being struck, signifying that his brother had lit up another cigarette. "Well, you smoke. That's what you do. Smoke. Why won't you talk to me?" 

"Because my mouth is full. It's rude to talk when one's mouth is full. Stop talking to me, so I don't have to be rude by answering you." Edward muttered around the tobacco-packed cylinder in his mouth. His unusually coloured eyes scanned the text of his dictionary one more time, before he picked up the pen beside him, dipped it in the inkwell and began to write. Onyx eyes as dark as the writing liquid narrowed in annoyance until the schoolboy smirked; a smirk that reached the jet stones and polished them to a lewd sort of shine. 

"I'm more than sure you'd 'talk' to _me_, if _my_ mouth was full..." 

The scratching stopped momentarily and ingots of a precious tincture cautiously glanced sideways. The young boy saw the furtive reaction and grinned.

"I beg your pardon?" Pleased that he had finally got his brother's attention, William got up from the expensive seat. 

"I mean... Would you talk to me if I were to take that burning cylinder of a cigarette of yours, put it in my mouth and smoke it until there was nothing but smouldering ash left?" A boyishly smooth hand rested on a shoulder partly covered by Edward's burgundy waistcoat. Edward was rather taken back at his brother's unexpected gesture. He turned his upper body to get the troublesome sixteen year-old fully into his sight. Peripheral vision was all well and good, but when creatures as mischievous as William Weir were in one's presence, a full eye was best. 

"I'd tell you to give it back before you got your dirty, little mouth around it." The newspaper columnist replied coolly. He watched the grin on his sibling's face stretch to ridiculous means; a psychotic glint reflecting on the fathomless wells of sable water. 

"Why? Because I could smoke it with more class than you ever could?" 

"No, because men's cigarettes are for men. Not for little boys, like you." And to emphasise his point, Edward blew a meagre quantity of the smoke into William's face, hoping that the pesky yob would allow him some peace. It didn't seem to work, as the public schoolboy's presence became more imminent; more intimate. The raven-haired young man brought his hand down from the strong, broad shoulder and draped his ecru-covered arm across the defined upper torso, palm flat and fingers splayed across a section of flank. 

"Well, if I can't have your cigarette, perhaps a thick, long, refined Gentleman's cigar is on offer?" 

"It most certainly is not." 

Edward was, largely, of a grumpy but collected mien, yet every time his laddish relative exhibited such odd behaviour as openly showing affection for the misanthropic columnist, Edward couldn't help but feel a little nervous. But only a little. The emotion that ran away with first place's blue rosette before the other competitors had even crossed the line, was Irritation. 

"There are...ways to make someone talk, you know, Yorky." William mumbled sensually against his brother's sensitive ear, taunting him into producing a tiny shudder. 

"How many times have I told you _not_ to call me that?" 

"Ummm... Several?" Edward took the time to relocate the hormonal boy's twitching hand to somewhere well away from his body, only to have it slip out of his grasp and creep back. 

"Yes. Correct. Now, how many times have you _listened?" What had been gripping a pen was now sporting a convulsing fist. The blond man inhaled sharply as downy strands of coal-dust brushed against his pale, flawless neck; releasing the air along with pent-up distress. _

"Hmm... All of the time, dear brother. All of the time. 'Obeying'... Now, _that's_ a different matter." William smiled shark-like against the warm, lightly-scented skin; a pink hint of tongue sneaking out to taste the surface. 

"Damnit, William, what are you up to?" 

"Depends on what _you're_ up to." 

"Shut up!"

"_Make_ me." William replied, holding back his laughter at his older sibling's mounting rage.

"What do you want from me?!" The blond stiffened at the all-too-amourous fondling that was taking place over his abdomen. It also worried him greatly that another wrongly inquisitive limb was wandering dangerously lower down. "William Weir, I'm ordering you to cease this nonsense immediately, or I'll throw you out of this house forever and you can go crying to our so-called father." Edward barked, though the spiny tone was looked over. 

"I don't think father would be too pleased to hear about what happened yesterday evening..." The devious teenager cooed in a singsong voice, all the while continuing his bizarrely arousing caresses. 

"That was an accident. And _accident_!" 

"Yes. A drunken accident, indeed. But some accidents are just waiting to happen, aren't they?" The southward-bound creeper stopped just short of its final goal. Edward forced himself to peer down at the fingers gently drumming at the buttons on his trousers. 

"I was not drunk! …And even if I was, are you implying that I would have done the same if I wasn't under the influence of alcohol?" He replied, never taking his terrified sight from the impatiently waiting digits. 

"Oh no. You might have _wanted_ to, but I know you have a little more reserve than that..." Edward was made powerless by sheer doubt of the reality of the situation, and watched in morbidly slow motion as the nimble extremities quickly undid the fastenings and slipped inside of the woollen garment.  

"Aaaa-haaaa-ha! No! William! Stop this, now!" Edward wriggled and writhed uncomfortably, as he struggled in vain, to prevent irritating relative from groping him further. 

"Why?" William whispered; his warm breath carrying the words around the shell of the pinkening auricle. The aggressor could feel his brother's body tensing up against his touch and the resistance only proved to inflame him more. The hand that had been violating the supple stomach shifted to start work upon the removal of the obstructing waistcoat and shirt. 

"Because... Because..." The poor, harassed blond was struggling to think; his mind fogged by the sensations of the forbidden touches. Touches that, no matter how prohibited, were still as arousing as those that were permitted. Pale blinds shut out the ignominious early morning sun, as the mischievous one made contact with his flesh. Edward's back arched felinely and William grinned insanely. 

"Because?" He prompted

"Because you're my _brother_, you _idiot_." Willowy thighs clamped together, effectively trapping the roving hand between them. A nasty popping of the knuckles, a squeak of surprise and a few muttered cursings was all it took for the uninvited ghost to depart. Exhaling strongly, the scent of alleviation heavy in the air, Edward got up from his chair and did the only thing a man who had been in such a compromising position could, should and would do. 

He cuffed young William hard about the head. 

"Ow! What was that for, you big monster?!" Palms that had made licentious acquaintance with Edward's private area, were now shielding a delicate skull from the merciless beating. Golden eyes widened; disbelief fuelling the fire that burned behind them. 

"What was that for? What was that _for_?! You've just molested me in places I could have you arrested for, and you ask me _why_ I _hit_ you?! You cretinous child, I would have thought that was obvious!" Edward swiftly began to do up his clothing.

"_I_ didn't hit _you_ when _you_ kissed _me_ yesterday evening." The playfully sly smirk returned to William's rosy lips. "Yes... The evening past. Do you remember? Or were you too _drunk_?" 

"That was an accident! I fell!" A finely shaped, black eyebrow arched in scepticism. 

"Onto my mouth?" 

"Alright, it was dark. I thought you were my maid!" 

"You have a maid named 'William... Oh, William...'?" The blond was running out of pathetic excuses and was, therefore, positively seething. He wasn't about to admit that a few glasses of port could make him tipsy enough to advance on his brother, of all people. 

"Fine! FINE! I was... I was..." 

Just as Edward was stuttering for a final miserable justification, before his brother took leave of his senses once more and decided to finish what he had begun, the doorbell started ringing. 

"Oh! The doorbell's ringing. I'd better go and see who it is. It could be...someone important. Like...like... The editor! Yes, the editor." Edward narrowed his eyes at the troublesome child. "Stay here and _don't move_ or I'll hurt you. _Seriously_." Every muscle in the twenty-two year old body was geared up to run and escape the mental imbalance of his youngest sibling. Yet, no matter how disturbingly forceful the sexual wrath of his brother was, Edward was a self-mindful creature and could muster little more than a brisk walk without damaging his pride. After deciding upon a pace that was conservatively quick, the wiry male strode towards the door... 

...Only to have the way barred by an overly-suave and smug-looking William. 

"Let your 'Maid' get it." 

"She's on holiday." Edward ground out through gritted teeth.

"Are you sure she's a she? I mean, 'William' doesn't sound like a very feminine name... 'William... Oh, William...' doesn't sound particularly girlish, either..." 

"If you don't move out of the way, _you'll_ be more _girlish_ than you care to disclose, my boy." 

"I'm your _boy_ now, am I? Well, things certainly _have_ become interesting today!" Seeing that his threats had simply brought more taunts from the schoolboy's mouth, Edward concluded that there was only one option left: brute force. Using his superior height and weight, and the age-old art of surprise, one splenetic journalist was able to surpass the irksome adolescent. 

Unfortunately, the chiming served only as a means of escape from the figurative corner the proud lion was trapped in, as whoever was at the door, departed on the writer's arrival. Oh, bitter, ironic cliché.

Stressed beyond belief, the renowned Mr. York turned back to his drawing room and the inescapable jibes of the last of the Weir clan. 

"Nobody there?" 

"Evidently." Feeling strangely drained, the bespectacled blond collapsed down unceremoniously onto his sofa. William wandered over and threw himself across his brother's lap; stretching his body in a manner akin to a lazy panther, before settling his head on a slim, toned thigh. "That hurt, you moron. My poor being's not used to such 'amorous' onslaughts." 

"But Edward! You're twenty-two!" 

"I didn't mean it like that! You're sixteen and you're heavy. I've never had such a heavy sixteen year old throw themselves upon my lap like that!" 

"I don't suppose you've _ever had a heavy sixteen year old. In all respects." An errant hand ran along the length of a lissome calf; its owner delighting in the nihilism of his new sport: Edward-baiting. _

"And I suppose you think you can remedy that?" The badgered male asked tiredly. 

"No sweeter remedy than one of Father's elixirs." 

"You forget that Father's a quack. What can all of those things amount to…? Potions and alchemy, indeed… They should have died with the 17th century…" Edward York removed his silver frames and rubbed at his face as if the action would erase all memory of what had transpired, then take him back to the time he woke up this morning so he could avoid his bothersome brother like the plague. "Listen, what do I have to do to get you to out of this mood?" Seeing the perverse gleam bouncing off of the ebony like a destructive ball, Edward thought it best to rephrase his question, lest he regret not doing so later. 

"That is, what must I do to make you behave?" 

"I just want to have your attention. All of it. It's not easy being stuck indoors due to bad weather with someone who just ignores you all of the time." The attractive, fair-headed man considered it for awhile. A few days ago, he had received an invitation from an associate of his- a Mr. Thomas Songfield- inviting York to spend a few days with him and Marie at their rural estate. At first, he wasn't particularly interested in passing his time with the 'Edward-obsessives' but now, it seemed like the perfect way to pacify his fired-up relative. 

"Okay, you win... Will you stop this absurd behaviour if I take you on holiday? Or will I have to have you committed?" 

"Holiday?!" William hadn't been hoping for this much. His anti-social brother rarely showed any sign of being amiable and whenever Edward offered to entertain, it was most certainly an event worthy of reporting in a newspaper. 

"Yes, a holiday. Songfield invited me down to that posh, 'Tallyho!' place he has in Somerset. I wasn't going to go but if it will shut you up and keep you from humping my leg, or arm, or any other body part like a dog in heat, I'll do almost anything." Childish excitement replaced the incestuous desire within William and brought definite relief to the bargaining writer. 

"Oh, this is all jolly good! A proper vacation! I was just expecting a quick roll in the hay or two, but this is a whole crown better!" 

"A _what_?! William?!" The one-so-named rapidly moved off of his temporary resting place, standing up and brushing the creases out of his trousers. 

"I'm going on holiday! To Somerset! And I don't have to pay a single penny! Bravo, me!" The lively boy began dancing, what could only be described as a drunken waltz with an imaginary partner. 

"Stupid, uncultured boy... It seems I'm going to have to teach you how to dance properly, as well... The shame you'd bring at any formal gatherings…" Edward muttered, his head throbbing with the impending stampede of a headache. 

"You're going to teach me how to dance, _too?! This is the __best suspension I've ever HAD!" _

"_Suspension_?! You've always told me they were school holidays! William?!" Ignoring the angry questions coming from the vicinity of the sofa, an impish lad laughed and skidded out of the door and into the hall. 

"Wait until I tell my boyfriends back at school! They'll be so jealous that I won't be able to walk straight for MONTHS!" He called. Will stood in the hallway, singing a rude and raucous song, stamping his feet and breaking into riotous fits of laughter, until the blond owner appeared outside of the study. 

"_Boyfriends_?! William?!" Another fiendish chuckle before the child blew a kiss to his older brother as he hightailed and hot-pantsed it up the staircase. 

"Oh boy, this is going to be GREAT! I'll get packing right away! We can leave tomorrow! Thanks a million, Yorky! I _love_ you and you can have as many drunken kisses as you desire when I'm finished!" 

The slam of a bedroom door echoed throughout the premises. 

...A blink of horrified shards of hazel... 

And finally, everything was registered and processed, leaving the product nicely wrapped up on Edward's tongue. 

"WILLIAAAAM!!!" 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

And there we have the second part. I know that "William" sounds nothing like "Tatsuha", but "William" has that mischievous, shoutable quality to it. Besides, I couldn't think of any decent, upper-middle class/lower-upper class, nineteenth century names and I was **_NOT_** going to call him "Tarquin". 

...So, it's adieu once more and I'll see you (maybe?) in part three for the last invitation!


End file.
